


The Chance to Love Yourself

by yokomya



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:45:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5503487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yokomya/pseuds/yokomya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t.”</p><p>It was the most miserable he’s ever sounded.</p><p>And the most he’s ever pleaded in his entire life - all in one word.</p><p>“Mickey, don’t.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chance to Love Yourself

 

It was after dawn and the sky was already darkening into a never ending black. The night was cooling, going from a spring warm into a fall chill.

There wasn’t a light on at the church, there wasn’t a soul in sight at the front, so Ian raced around to the back, to the lonely and empty patch of lawn in the back.

When he found Mickey, Ian was speechless. Tears gathered at his eyes and spilled over, dripping down -   _down, down, down_.

He remembered seeing the gun first - like it was a silhouette and not actually there. It couldn’t be there. It just isn’t, it just isn’t there - it’s _not_ -

If it was, it would be pressed into Mickey’s neck and he would have his eyes shut, like he’s accepted his decision - his decision to do this - this thing - this awful, horrible -

_God no._

Ian was already crying, silently shedding tears so that he didn’t spook Mickey. So that he didn’t spook his trigger finger. He was so scared. He was so so so very scared.

“Mickey,” Ian whispered out.

In such a raspy voice - such a low _low_ tone - it hardly made it into the air.

Mickey didn’t respond but his eyes fluttered open the slightest, half-lidded, dazed, and broken into so many pieces. He was still, sitting there, slumped, his back against the wall of the church, his head only held high enough so that the gun can be firm against his neck. So that he doesn’t miss. So that what he wants is quick and painless -  

_No, please, no, no, no -_

There were so many questions whirling around in Ian’s mind that he couldn’t pick out a single one. They were there though. Floating around, asking to be spoken, begging to be said. He didn’t wipe at his eyes, it would be pointless - but he shuddered and inhaled and calmed himself to the best of his ability. It was so very pointless.

Because looking down at Mickey in this state, watching him prepare to do what he came here to do, took every ounce of courage he’s ever built up out from under him.

“ _Don’t_.”

It was the most miserable he’s ever sounded.

And the most he’s ever pleaded in his entire life - all in one word.

“Mickey, _don’t_.”

He was so afraid. Any second a gunshot would resound and blood would spill against the wall and all the lights in the universe would flicker out.

Mickey appeared so far off, so already gone, that it was hard to believe he was still alive. Sitting there, on the grass, by a church, void of emotions - already lifeless.

“I’ll do anything,” Ian choked out, stepping closer gently, body shaking harder than it ever has.

“I’ve never gone to God,” Mickey murmured, tone unrecognizable and distant. He still had a loose finger on the gun, still had it pressed into his flesh, _still_ -

“Okay,” Ian responded quickly, wanting to keep Mickey talking, to do anything in his power to just _keep Mickey fucking talking_.

“But I thought I could try it out - ask for forgiveness - the kind of shit that’s supposed to work.”

“It worked, right? It worked?” Ian stuttered, grasping at his own sleeves, aching inside and out.

“If it did,” Mickey replied quietly, “It wasn’t enough to save me.”

Ian couldn’t swallow or react or respond at all. He made a noise in his throat, a terrified noise that Mickey didn’t even register.

“I can’t make things right with God, not now,” Mickey went on, “I can’t ask for forgiveness. I can’t do anything. I can’t take it anymore. I’m so fucking. . .”

He wasn’t looking at Ian but up at the starry sky above them, letting his knee collapse to the dirt. “I’m so tired, man, I - I want it to be over already. There’s no hope left for me here.”

Ian stepped forward on impulse but stopped short when Mickey looked down, as if he might make a move.

_Don’t do that, don’t move, don’t make any moves, don’t do anything -_

“Just - just listen to me, Mickey, please, listen to me. Alright?”

Mickey stared at him, like he didn’t care about whatever was coming out of Ian’s mouth but because of that, he didn’t bother stopping him either. They looked at each other for a long time and then Ian finally mustered up whatever he could, whatever he could think of, anything - _any fucking thing to stop him_.

“You know, when you take someone’s life, you’re also taking the lives of the people around them,” Ian started, shivering when fresh tears trickled down his face.

“You’re not just killing that person, you’re killing anyone who has ever known them.”

Mickey opened his mouth a little, just a bit, but shut it back, not letting whatever was there escape. Ian felt his heart cave in.

“And when you take that person’s life, you’re taking away their present, their past and their future. The blueprints of their personality vanish. The mannerisms they’ve learned, the languages they’ve spoken, the skills they’ve crafted vanish. Hearts they could have touched and inspired - it all goes away.”

Ian swallowed, words spilling out before he could reel them back in. He had to make sure Mickey understood. Had to make sure he _knew_.

“Doesn’t sound so bad,” Mickey mused softly, speaking to no one - not to Ian and not even to himself.

On edge, Ian shook his head and raised his hand out, desperate.

“But they'll miss out on so much ahead," he breathed out, "Any possibility of meeting someone who might make them happy, any chance to repair a broken friendship, any attempt to succeed at their failures - will disappear. You’ll be erasing precious memories, taking away hope for them to grow, letting their dreams fade away."

Getting caught up in the last sentence, he steadied his breathing and continued. 

"Unspoken thoughts and ideas will crash and burn,” He told Mickey, who was sinking further and further. He could see it in Mickey’s eyes, that he had to hurry.

That he had to make this count.

“They will never be able to make up for lost time,” Ian rasped out weakly, closing his fist, “They will never be able to finally face that one fear that’s always been holding them back. They will never be able to help someone in need or teach something they know or reach out to anyone _ever_ again.”

Mickey simply watched Ian, like he was seeing him for the first time, and shifted, eyebrows creasing. His hand relaxed, his body calmed - if only a bit. Ian bit his lip so hard that it almost bled.

_Keep looking, keep listening, listen to my voice, I’m not going anywhere -_

“And they will never learn from another mistakes or spill out another insecurity - the ones that have always been buried inside of them. Every emotion they’ve ever felt and will ever feel will be gone.”

He walked closer to Mickey - pausing anxiously - but Mickey didn’t waver, didn’t _say_ or _do_ anything. He just stared - face falling, eyes glimmering, lips quivering.  

“And every opportunity they might have to find their place in the world will die with them.”

Ian crouched, steadied himself, stayed slow and careful in his movements. He touched Mickey’s face first - _hey, I’m here, it’s me, I’m here for you -_

His cheek, under his eye, his temple, his hair. Mickey still didn't react, just numbly stared, lost and damaged.

Ian tried not to burst into a sob when he grabbed the gun softly with his other hand, moving it oh so carefully away - pointed somewhere else. His heart hammered wildly, going up into this throat.

“You wouldn’t do that to anyone, Mickey - take their life. Take away their chance to love themselves,” Ian whimpered, lowering the gun, removing it from Mickey's grip.

“So, please, don’t take your own.”

He threw the gun, not even paying attention to the _thud_ it made when it hit the grass a few feet away and nodded at Mickey with everything he had. Showed with his gaze that Mickey deserved to live. That every word was meant for Mickey. That he would do anything to protect him, to save him, to be there for him - to free him from pain, anything, _anything_ -

“I need you.”

_You're needed, you're wanted, you're everything -_

Ian choked it out so suddenly that he the words were barely audible.

It was all he had left to offer.

Not even a second passed when Mickey was struck with something - heard _that_ if nothing else. His blue eyes cleared and he blinked, regaining conscious, chest moving up and down, finally breathing again - heavy and shallow.

Without warning, he flew forward and crashed into Ian so hard that they both tumbled to the grass.

Mickey gripped on to him - clinging for dear life, buried his face into his chest, begged and apologized over and over -

And after all this time, after a long life of bottling everything up because he's never been allowed to let it out -

 

Mickey wept.

 

Until his tears ran dry. 


End file.
